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POEM, 



DEHVEHED BEFORE THE CHESTER COUNTT CABINET OF IfAT^BAI. SCI2:irCS, 

y 

BY GEORGE W. PEARCE. 



DECEMBER 4, 1841. 



POEM, 



INTRODUCTORY TO A COURSE OF LECTURES 



DELIVERED BEFORE THE 



(g m 21 S 1? H IB ^©"dSS'S'ir A S3 E SS" 31 "1? 



OF 



NATURAL SCIENCE, 



DECEMBER 4, 1841. 



/ 



BY GEORGE W . PEARCE, 



PHILADELPHIA: 

BROWN, BICKING & GUILBERT, PRINTERS, NO. 56 NORTH THIRD STREET. 

1841. 



t 






West Chester, December 14, 1841. 
Dear Sir, — The Undersigned, your friends and fellow-citizens, beg 
leave to express the high gratification they experienced at the reading 
of your interesting and truly Classical Poem before the " Chester 
County Cabinet of Natural Science," on the opening of the present 
course of Lectures : and respectfully request a copy thereof for pub- 
lication. 

Very obediently. 

Your Friends, 

WiLMER WORTHINGTON, 
W. P. TOWNSEND, 
W. ToWNSEND, 

Ferdinand E. Hayes, 
J. Marshall, 
Henry Fleming, 
Joseph J. Lewis, 
John D. Mendenhall, 
John S. Bowen, 
Isaac Thomas. 
To George W. Pearce, Esq. 



West Chester, December 14, 1841. 

Gentlemen, — I have this morning received your very friendly letter, 
asking of me a copy, for publication, of the Poem delivered before the 
"Cabinet" on the evening of Friday, December 4th. 

I cannot but think that the production has been greatly overrated, 
and were it not for the high opinions I entertain of your correct taste 
in literature, I should hesitate long before permitting it to come before 
the public ; but as you, in connection with many of my friends, have 
been pleased to speak favourably of the effort, I cannot refuse your 
request. 

I am, gentlemen, with feelings of sincere regard. 

Your obedient servant, 

GEORGE W. PEARCE. 
To 

Wilmer Worthington, 

W. P. Townsend, 

W. Townsend, 

Ferdinand E. Hayes, 

J. Marshall, 

Henry Fleming, 

Joseph J. Lewis, 

J. D. Mendenhall, 

John S. Bowen, 

Isaac Thomas. 



A POEM. 



The far-famed grove of Daphne, it is sung, 

Was once the spot were Grecian triumphs rung ; 

Beyond the borders of the Syrian chme — 

Hard by Orontes' ever tuneful chime 

It lay, one long unbroken line of green, 

Out-riv'ling far, Idalia's sweetest scene. 

There 'neath its shades the summer's scorching beams, 

Were tempered by a thousand leaping streams ; 

And the cool fragrance of the lucid spray. 

Kissed the wan colour of the flower away. 

The verdant laurel threw its branches high. 

And twined a bower impervious to the sky ; 

Through the long defiles of that sacred grove, 

Voices were tuned to Gentleness and Love ; 

Appollo strung his lyre, and woke a song. 

Whose melting sweetness wander'd far along 

The devious windings of the Sylvan shade. 

And back returned in Echo's train arrayed. 

Here came the heroes of the Pythian games. 

With princely nobles of illustrious names ; 

The laurel'd warrior from the battle field. 

With crimson stains upon his burnished shield — 

The poet here, new themes of glory caught ; — 

The oracle its sacred wisdom taught ; 

Genius was crowned with chaplets of bright flowers, 



4 POEM. 

Culled from the grottoes and the fairy bowers; 
And shouts of approbation rent the air, 
When eloquence poured forth its power there. 
Votaries of learning and perfected art, 
Left the gay city for this mental mart. 
Bearing their trophies to the temple's shrine, 
Where stood the Parian Goddess half divine. 
But these proud days, long since have passed away, 
The Daphneian grove has mouldered to decay — 
Its fair proportioned temple, lives alone 
In song. Appollo's lyre has ceased its tone, 
And the rich tracery of summer bowers, 
With all the deep perfume of blooming flowers. 
Have faded — and perchance he looks in vain. 
Who seeks the spot where once the loud acclaim. 
Rung its wild peal to many a victor's name ! 

Greece too has fallen from her dizzy height ; 

And superstition's dark and loathsome night, 

Now broods above that land, whose ruins still, 

Remain unequalled by all human skill. 

Her noble temples, by the ruthless hand 

Of servile war, in broken fragments stand — 

Her gems of art are limbless and cast down. 

Beneath the foot of ev'ry rustic clown. 

But Oh ! the ruins of her massive walls — 

Her cloud-lost columns, and her sculptured halls, 

What are they? when we view her mighty mind 

Sunk to the level of the brutal hind ! 

She the proud mother of a noble race, 

Whose deeds of greatness time can ne'er efface, 



POEM. i 

Gropes through the darkness of her mental night, 
A fearful wreck of intellectual light ! 
This, this is ruin which a world deplores — 
The wail resounds along the peopled shores 
Of every clime, where learning's vestal flame, 
Feeds on the unburied genius of her name. 

When waned the star of Greece, was there no cry, 

To rouse her people from their lethargy ? 

Was there no sentry on the Parthenon — 

No watch-fire on the field of Marathon, 

When Science left the Athenian city's gate, 

To seek protection from a nameless fate ? 

The sluggish sentry slept — no cry was heard — 

No hand the glimmering watch-fire's embers stirred : 

Fair Science unmolested left the land. 

That she had nurtured with maternal hand ; 

And wandered forth some genial spot to find, 

Where she might rear her altar to the mind. 

Long through the darkened ages of a world. 
Back to primeval chaos rudely hurled, 
She journeyed on, amid the gathering gloom, 
A spectre form emerging from the tomb. 
Earth had no resting place — no worshipper — 
No dove returned with olive branch to her : 
Her lamp burned dimly, yet its flick'ring light. 
Guided the wand'rer through the lengthened night. 
Oft in her weary search, she paused the while. 
To catch one gleam of hope, one favoured smile ; 
But the dim mists of ignorance, still threw, 



b POEM. 

Their blighting influence o'er the famished few, 
Who deigned to look upon that lustrous eye, 
Which pierced the ages of futurity. 

For ten long centuries she groped her way, 
Through gloom, and darkness, ruin and decay ; 
Yet came at last the morning's rosy light, 
A thousand echoes hailed the glorious sight — 
Joy thrilled the universe — -one mingled cry 
Of exultation, pealed along the sky ! 
Science came forth in richer robes arrayed, 
She trod a pathway ne'er before assayed ; 
Up the steep mount of fame, she fleetly pressed. 
And hung her trophies on its gilded crest. 

The arts revived — new vigour was instilled 

Into the languid system — earth was filled 

With classic learning, and the immortal mind. 

Threw off* the shackles, that long years had twined 

Around its struggling form. The heaving main, 

Was made subservient to its boundless reign ; 

The gallant vessel swam the rifted seas. 

And threw her pennant to the whistling breeze. 

Old Andelusia's rich and fertile shore. 

Caught the wild music of their stormy roar , 

She saw the noble Genoese go forth. 

To seek the undiscovered realms of earth — 

Before her royal throne he bowed the knee, 

No fawning suppliant for its clemency ; 

But the bold mariner whose dauntless soul, 

Wooed the stern danger of the billow's roll. 



POEM. 

Columbia ! where amid thy peerless land, 
Does the high column to his greatness stand? 
Is there no psean to his genius sung, 
Where the first echo of his triumph rung ? 
He needs no tablet, no exulting song, 
To waft his glory to a distant throng — 
Yon mountain's peak up-heaving to the sky 
Is nature's tribute to his memory — 
The eternal anthem of Niag'ra's flood, 
A paean to his daring hardihood. 

This broad free land we tread, and call our own. 

The Atalantis to the Grecian known. 

No longer lives a dim and fabled isle, 

Bouyed on the Ocean's calm untroubled smile ; 

But the vast empire of a noble race. 

Whose moral grandeur covers all its face. 

Greece wakens from her long protracted sleep, 
And o'er the bosom of the boundless deep. 
She casts her wond'ring eye, and sees afar, 
The rich effulgence of her own bright star. 
The Delphic temple greets again her sight — 
Its chiseled beauty, robed in stainless white. 
Rises like Venus from the dimpled wave, 
A relic, stolen from a nation^s grave. 
We do not dare to touch with hand profane, 
The pure perfection of her classic reign ; 
But seek to imitate the matchless grace. 
That art has left upon her time worn face. 



8 POEM. 

Along these blooming shores, on ev'ry hill, 

By rolling rivers and by whisp'ring rill — 

Where mountains kiss the sapphire painted sky, 

Her model'd structures meet the admiring eye — 

Here too the Sculptor tells her classic tales — 

The speaking canvass o'er her glory wails — 

The poet catches her Promethian fire, 

And wakes the music of his magic lyre — 

The bird of Jove her guard of hberty, 

Is still the emblem of a nation free. 

Not these alone to her astonished gaze. 

Proclaim the splendour of her own proud days ; 

But see by yonder green enamel'd wood. 

The form of one who stands in thoughtful mood ; 

She plucks fair blossoms from the grassy mead. 

Sees beauty in the oft neglected weed ; 

Her ear is opened to the swelling song, 

That echoes from the merry warbling throng ; 

She cleaves the dark grey rock, and delves the earth, 

And from their hidden cells, brings treasures forth ; 

She courts the fury of the tempest cloud, 

And hears unawed the thunder crashing loud ; 

She lures the lightning from its blazing path. 

And tames the fiery spirit of its wrath ; 

She guides the sailless vessel o'er the main, 

And counts the number of the starry train. 

Fair science ! Athens first beheld thy charms — 
Thy infant years were cradPd in her arms; 
She fed thy golden lamp, and by its flame. 
Passed as a meteor to the peak of fame ! 



POEM. 9 

Daughter of heaven ! we hail thy beaming star — 

Columbia by thy light, is seen afar ; 

Her glory lives not, in the arm alone, 

That crushed the trappings of a monarch's throne ! 

But in the splendour of her winged mind. 

That roams untrameled as the wand'ring wind j 

Piercing to worlds of new created light. 

Where angel's wing might fear to take its jflight. 

Not for the hero's brow alone, we twine. 

The living laurel and the fadeless pine ; 

Thy sons deserve the victor's meed of praise, 

And Franklin, Fulton's names, with glory blaze ! 

Well may imagination thus compare. 
The old republic with its youthful heir ; 
For not unreal is the scene portrayed, 
Of all her pure conceptions here displayed. 
But what sequestered spot, what Sylvan shade, 
With gentle streamlet murm'ring through the glade, 
Shall we select, and hail a Daphneian grove, 
Where music echoes to the voice of love? 
May we not wander by our own fair stream,(^) 
And see Orontes' in its silver gleam ? 
Along its verdant banks are there not bowers, 
Vocal with music in soft vernal hours ? 
Is there not beauty, ling'ring like a spell, 
In every valley, every lonely dell, 
Kissed by its crystal waters, as they glide 
To meet the tumult of the Ocean's tide ? 
The eye might never wish to catch a scene, 
So rich with every charm of deep'ning green, 

2 



10 POEM. 

As bathes its vision when the voice of June, 
Whispers upon our own fair hills, its tune. 
Be these surrounding charms the sacred grove. 
Where the pale student may, delighted rove ; 
Let art and science bring their treasures here, 
To lend enchantment to the gay parterre. 

But does not fame already give the sound. 

That this on which we stand is classic ground ? 

The archives of this noble hall proclaim. 

That we are not without an honoured name. 

Science, and learning, eloquence and art, 

Have left their influence graven on the heart. 

We joy to know that every passing year. 

Will bring us back this pure ambrosial cheer — 

When the fair bloom of summer fades away, 

And ev'ry leaflet leaves the quivering spray — 

When the bright dew drop chrystals with the frost, 

And the pale flowret on the blast is tost ; 

The lonely spirit drys its starting tear, 

By fondly turning to a summer here. 

Learning's deep fountain like the unfathomed wave. 

Congeals not, though stern winds of winter rave, 

Its sparkling jets are ever springing high, 

And tinge with iris life's enchanted sky. 

No slight return of gratitude we owe. 

To those who cause this living stream to flow ; 

Cheerless and dark might be the passing hour, 

But for the rich delights that round us shower. 

On him who wisely governs this proud hall, 

The voice of praise most worthily may fall ; 



POEM. 11 

We hail the auspicious moment passing now, 
To bind the laurel on his honoured brow ; 
Flora's gay daughters, all their offrings bring,(^) 
And weave a garland for their worthy king. 

The feast is now before us — rich the fare — 
Winter's rude dirge in vain may fill the air ; 
The light of ages beams around the board, 
Where pure libations to the heart are poured. 
We tread the lands immortalized in song — 
Old Homer's form glides stealthily along — 
We climb the mountain's summit — follow far 
The vivid flashes of the conqueror's star — 
We stand amid the eternal city's gloom. 
And gaze with wonder on each chisel'd tomb— 
The starry throng, the earth, the storm's loud cry — 
The fierce Volcano spouting flame on high — 
The meteor floating o'er the silent dell. 
Have each for us a thrilling tale to tell. 



NOTES. 

Page 9 Note a. 

" May we not wander by our own fair stream." 

The allusion is to the Brandywine, a stream that flows within two 
miles of the Village of West Chester, and which has been rendered 
classic, by the memorable battle fought upon its banks during the 
revolution. 

Page 11. Note b. 

"Flora's gay daughters, all their ofFrings bring, 
"And weave a garland for their worthy king." 
These lines in connection with the four preceding them feebly at- 
tempt to convey a tribute of respect to Wm. Darlington, M. D., the 
presiding officer of the "Chester County Cabinet of Natural Science," 
and the distinguished author of "Flora Cestrica," a Botanical work 
that ranks amongst the most learned and laborious productions, on 
that beautiful science. 



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